


Discoveries

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tom's death, the person who comes for Connor is not the one he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discoveries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallearthcat (vamplover82)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamplover82/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta, whom I will out after the reveal. Many thanks also to my recipient for the challenge of writing these characters in this way. I hope that I have given you something of what you wanted.

The police cannot question him because the Home Office can't have them knowing about space-time anomalies and parasite-carrying dodos. Claudia Brown didn't question him because she was there, but there will be a debriefing tomorrow morning in Lester's office. Connor doesn't think much about it. For right now, he's grateful that the others have left and seem to have forgotten about him. He's never lost a friend before. Not like this.

He sits as near to it as he can bear – the site of Tom's death. He's numb. He knows it's cold and wet, but he can't feel it. He just knows that he's trying to remember the good days with his friends – the DVD nights, the geeking out over sci-fi and gadgets and conspiracy theories. But all that passes before him is the smell and change of Tom. The way he tried to bite Abby. The way his eyes changed colour when the parasite took over. The laser sights dancing over his face and shoulders. The fact that just yesterday – just three hours ago – Tom was alive, and now he's not.

The way Cutter comforted him, held him, which was so needed and so awful because it made the whole thing real.

There are tears pricking through his numbness again, and he wishes all of a sudden for a friendly voice or face. Cutter. Abby. Tom.

"Thought I might find you here."

Connor can't manage to be startled. "I wasn't expecting you." He doesn't look up, doesn't move when Stephen sits down next to him.

"Sorry to disappoint." Stephen's voice is warmer than usual, if only by the tiniest fraction. It reminds Connor of the warmth of Stephen's hand on his shoulder in the kitchen as they watched the dodos.

Connor doesn't want to break down in front of Stephen. "It's not a disappointment." It's almost true, in that nothing can disappoint if nothing is expected. Except that he really wishes Tom wasn't dead.

"Cutter's talking to Lester, or he'd be here. He's worried about you."

"That's all right. We had our ... moment." Connor forces a smile, but he realises that it's true. As much as he likes, maybe even loves the man, seeing Cutter right now would be too much.

After a while, Stephen shifts, making Connor aware that they've been touching. "Abby's gone home. The owners here want their stadium back."

"And you've been sent to get me."

Stephen squeezes Connor's nearest shoulder and follows it up with a hard pat. "Come on," he says, rising. "Drinks on me."

*****

"I told her you were gay." Connor buries his face in his third lager and lime.

"You said I was gay?" Stephen eases his water to the table.

"Mm ... well, I said you _could_ be gay." Connor wipes foam from his upper lip. "I also said you were a two-timing weasel, and that there's plenty more fish in the sea." He dives back into his drink.

"Nice to know what you think of me." Stephen takes a drink of his water.

"Well, you said I'm not your type, so we're even, yeah?" Connor raises his glass.

Stephen touches it with his, but doesn't say anything for a bit. "You really like Abby, don't you?"

"Well," Connor scoffs, "who wouldn't? I mean you do too, yeah? And she's all over you."

"Yeah, but she's not for me. Not really. I mean I like her, and everything, and I wouldn't kick her out of bed, but she's looking for something I can't give her."

"Perfect man, right?"

"Yeah."

"So who's this Allison bird, anyway?"

"She's now my ex-girlfriend. She said I was too complicated." Stephen toys with his water as though he hates it.

"Yeah, well, that's what women say about me, too."

Stephen shakes his head with a smirk.

"Okay, maybe they don't. More like, 'Girls don't go for comics!' or 'What's a gorgonopsid?' or 'Not in a million years!'" Connor takes a pull on his lager. "Gets a bit disheartening, sometimes."

"They really ask you 'What's a gorgonopsid?' Have you told Cutter about this?"

"I'm not telling secrets about dinosaurs!" Connor shouts, making a few heads turn. "At least, not any more. Besides," he adds, lowering his voice, "it wasn't really a girl. It was Dunc. Being a girl. Sort of."

Stephen blinks. "And on that image, I'm getting a pint." He rises and turns for the bar.

"'Nother one for me?" Connor waves his quarter-full glass at Stephen.

"Only if you promise not to be sick on me."

"Oh, yeah, I can handle ten of these!"

Stephen runs his fingers through his hair. "One more." He leans down, an enigmatic smile on his face. "And then you pay." He pats Connor's cheek.

"Pay? Pay how? What are you asking me to pay? I thought I wasn't your type!"

Stephen flips up a middle finger behind his back, and there are sniggers from the neighbouring tables.

Connor looks around. "Well, that's what he said." He looks at the bar in time to see Stephen shaking his head before chatting up the barmaid. Something inside of him sinks as he sips at the last of his lager. All of a sudden, he thinks that getting trolleyed is not the best idea. He rarely drinks, and is almost three sheets to the wind, and it isn't making him feel better.

A new lager and lime lands by the old one. Stephen sits across from him. After a moment, he says, "Absent friends."

Connor looks up and sees an odd look on Stephen's face. He picks up the fresh lager reluctantly and clinks Stephen's pint. "Hear, hear." He takes a decent sip. "So who are you missing?"

Stephen laughs, mirthless. "Cutter."

Connor's eyes widen. "You – Helen Cutter?"

Stephen's face is suddenly obscured by his drink. "I might not be quite as straight as you think I am."

Connor blinks, just to keep his eyes in his face. "You and Cutter ... Professor Cutter?"

"Something like that."

"The blond ... bloke...."

"Yeah." Stephen's face darkens, and he downs about a third of his pint. "I'd better be going."

Connor sits, stunned, as Stephen stalks out.

It is only when Stephen pushes roughly through the group entering that Connor rouses himself and bolts after him.

"Stephen!" He rounds the corner faster than Stephen and stands in front of him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, just ... well, like you said, I thought you were incredibly straight. You and Cutter both," he mutters, wishing immediately that he'd kept his afterthought to himself.

"Get out of my – wait, you too?" Stephen peers at Connor in the street lighting. "You do! You fancy him!" He smiles, making it impossible for Connor to imagine anything less safe.

"So we both have a thing for blonds," Connor mutters.

"Well, I like my men blond and my women dark-haired. And I like 'em both a bit on the older side. Two reasons why neither you nor Abby are my type." Stephen moves forward, past Connor. "Though you really do have nice legs." He doesn't turn around, but there's a cheek in his movement that just dares Connor to follow him. Or is that not to follow him?

Connor bolts again, when he can move, catching up at the next corner. "Is that an invitation?"

Stephen slows and gazes upwards at the perfect angle to show off his manly jaw. It reminds Connor a little of Abby, which is far too disconcerting. "I don't know. Why? Do you want it to be?" He turns his gaze slowly towards Connor, fixing him.

Connor can't tear his eyes away. "I ... dunno. Can't think about it right now."

"Doesn't look to me like you're thinking about much else."

"Okay, but I should be. I'm not your type. And I'm not ... erm...."

"Gay? Neither am I, technically. I'm bi. Sounds like you are, too."

As Connor faces being seen, and tries to figure out his next move, the skies open up and pour a torrent of cold rain onto them.

"Come on!" Stephen yanks him by the arm and they run down the street.

"Why don't we just stop in a doorway? Or a pub?" Connor shouts.

"Because my flat's two hundred yards from here," Stephen yells back.

"And you want to have your wicked way with me?" Connor wonders why he hasn't turned tail and fled to the nearest pub. Or Tube station.

"Well, you'll just have to find out, won't you? Give yourself a chance to discover something." There is a thunderclap, and Stephen runs faster.

Connor keeps pace, wondering why he's not feeling sick after all the beer.

*****

Stephen's flat is huge. At least, it is compared to his. His former flat. Or maybe it's more that it's spare and uncluttered, everything that Connor's isn't – wasn't. It's an odd mix of hard surfaces and lived-on furniture, sleek art and work in progress. There's a place for everything and almost everything is in its place. What Connor finds most interesting at the moment is that the bed is the first thing he saw when he entered. He tries to focus on the wines he sees racked in the kitchen – they look expensive, but he doesn't really know wine at all.

"Do you want some?"

Connor is caught, now aware that he missed the sound of the shower being turned off. "Oh! Er, no thanks. Just ... wondering how much it all cost. Though that's ... probably not what I'm supposed to say."

"It's just stuff I like. Some of it's expensive, but most of it's not that much." Stephen steers Connor away from the wine. "Bathroom's that way. Lots of towels, and you can borrow my robe whilst your clothes are in the dryer."

"Oh. Erm...."

"It's either that or you stay in the bathroom while you're here or until you dry out. Can't have you squelching about my flat and soaking my sectional."

Connor turns his attention to the sectional for the first time. "That thing's the size of my old flat."

"Why do you think I don't want you soaking it? Speaking of soaking things, you're dripping on my wooden floor."

Connor follows Stephen's eyes down to an impressive puddle. "Oh. Can't have that, can we?" He laughs, nervously and heads for the bathroom. "How 'bout I hand you out my clothes before I take a shower? Save some time...."

"Good idea." Stephen follows him to the door.

Connor stands inside, wondering about whether or not to shut the thing.

After a long, evaluating look, the corners of Stephen's mouth quirk up just a little and he shuts the door slowly. "Just pass me your clothes."

Connor breathes a sigh of relief as he begins to strip. "Will do!" He removes layer after layer of sodden clothing. "How the hell did we get soaked to the skin in two hundred yards of rain?"

"First, it happens. Second, you were already half-drowned when I found you in the stadium."

"Oh. Yeah, there is that." Connor hands out scarf, top coat, vest, shirt, trousers, socks.

"Boxers?"

"How did you know?" Connor has not taken them off.

"I saw you at Abby's, remember?"

"Oh. Erm... I—"

"You're not borrowing any of mine, and I'm not buying you any new ones."

"Right. Of course not." Connor thinks for about three seconds about just taking his wet clothing back and going back to Abby's as he shivers in his wet boxers. And then he strips them off and hands them through the door.

*****

"Have to admit, your shower's pretty cool." Connor emerges from the bathroom, grateful that Stephen is a bit bigger than he is as he ties the bathrobe more securely.

"It's one of the main reasons I chose this place." Stephen is lounging in a corner of the sectional, reading a copy of Lexus magazine.

"They have a magazine?"

"Yeah," Stephen says, absently. "Got some nice holiday spots." He flips a page.

"You sound thrilled."

"Yeah, well, it's not like you get a lot of opportunity to go to Dubai or Halong Bay on this job, is it?"

"Not yet, but who knows? Maybe an anomaly will turn up that takes you to a lovely garden spot."

Stephen lies back, magazine open face-down on his chest, and closes his eyes. "I don't know. Somehow, I just can't think of that any more without picturing a mososaur or a giant spider or a gorgonopsid or a—" he cuts himself off.

"Or a dodo with a giant parasite," Connor finishes.

"Sorry."

"It's alright." Connor sits down near Stephen – much closer than he'd intended, when he comes to think of it. Maybe it's the warmth of another human body that draws him. It isn't that Stephen's flat is cold, exactly. It's just that it makes him shiver.

"Can't turn up the heat, I'm afraid." Stephen looks at him, eyes surprisingly warm. "The gasman's coming in the morning, so they say. There's blankets in the linen cupboard, or coffee, if you like."

"Coffee's great, thanks. And where's the linen cupboard?"

"Just keep going past the towels."

Connor follows the path around the bathroom, past where he'd grabbed a towel from the nearest shelf, and finds the shelves where bedding is stored. Or at least, where it should be stored. There is one blanket there, and a sheet folded just as neatly on a neighbouring shelf, with a pillowcase above it, but everything else seems to be missing. His mum keeps things neat like this, so Connor knows that there is no spare bedspread or duvet, or whatever Stephen uses to top off the bed.

 _Duvet!_ his mind screams at him. _You saw it when you came in, remember?_

"Shut _up!_ ," he hisses. "Guys aren't supposed to notice those things!"

The promise of 'blankets' was overstated. There are quite a few empty shelves, making Connor wonder just how lived-in the place really is. He shrugs. Stephen is a bloke, after all. The lone sheet remains confusing, though.

"Hey, get me one too, yeah?" Stephen shouts from the kitchen.

"Er, no can do, I'm afraid. There's only one."

"What? Oh. Yeah, the others are in the wash. That's all right, we can share."

Connor is about to protest as he's picking up the blanket, but then he sees how big it is. "Okay, sure."

It is only once he's settled beneath the blanket and smells the coffee as it comes through Stephen's coffee machine that Connor realises just how cold he really is. It is only once Stephen comes back and settles without a second thought under the other half of the blanket – surprisingly close to him – that Connor realises first-hand how efficient a heating unit another human body is. It's probably just as well that it's not Abby sat under that blanket with him, as he'd go and throw himself on her without even asking, and would likely get kicked and punched in places that wince at the thought for his trouble.

So it's a bit of a surprise how welcome it is when Stephen just presses his arm against Connor's. It's warm and comforting and life-affirming, and it opens something inside Connor that he'd felt dying since he'd first learnt of the parasite infecting Tom. He swallows.

"Nothing wrong with a couple of friends sharing a little body heat," says Stephen.

It's the voice that does it, that gentle roughness that sends itself through Connor's ears and arm and bones. Connor turns and buries his face against Stephen's shoulder, not as surprised as he should be when Stephen pulls him in.

"Nothing at all," Stephen murmurs against Connor's ear.

Connor lets himself go. He couldn't with Cutter. He cannot with Abby. But right here, right now, he can with Stephen, and it means more to him than he could say even if he weren't crying too hard to say anything at all.

When tears and clothes have long dried and grief has given way to a first inquiring, utterly delicious kiss, Connor lets go of everything else and spends the next few nights discovering himself with Stephen.


End file.
